


baby pull me closer

by onthelasttrain



Category: The Prom - Sklar/Beguelin/Martin
Genre: Angst, F/F, Happy Ending, High School Reunion, Post Break Up, Sex, non binary emma nolan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-12-07 17:55:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20980016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onthelasttrain/pseuds/onthelasttrain
Summary: One cold night, Emma Nolan made the biggest mistake of her life. She watched Alyssa Greene walk away from her and never said a word to stop her.Now, five years later, a letter comes through Emma's door, inviting her to a high school reunion. It's the last thing she wants to do, old scars not having healed and old feelings threatening to come back to haunt her. What could go so wrong at a high school reunion? Maybe there could be some sparks between her and a long lost love.But sparks can cause fires, and fires can burn down everything.





	baby pull me closer

**Author's Note:**

> hello friends, thank you for clicking on my fic!  
as i said in the tags, emma is non binary in this fic. however that isn't the subject of the fic (as a cis writer i don't think i am the best person to write that), she just happens to be non-binary and uses she/they pronouns, because i love the idea of emma being non binary. i really hope i did it justice, but if you feel i could have done something better, do let me know! i'm always on the lookout for ways i can improve my writing.  
now let's get to the fic!

Initially, Emma wasn’t going to go. When the letter came through the mail slot a month ago informing her about her high school reunion, frankly it had been the last thing she had felt like doing. Despite the odd enjoyable class or friendly face-or an even friendlier smile and touch of hands in the back of a dark classroom-her high school years had been unpleasant to say the least, especially her last year. Even now, five years after she had graduated and sailed off to Los Angeles to shake off the small-town Indiana sentiment and traded it for open beaches, sunshine and pride parades, she still felt her chest tighten when people asked her about her high school, her hands shake when they looked back through old photo albums. Only the very last pages can make them smile; the prom ones. Not the ones of the fake “inclusive” prom that had made them run back to her house, bury her face into her pillow and cry until there was nothing left-she burned any evidence of that existing (quite literally). The real prom. The one where she wore a suit and Alyssa wore the most beautiful purple dress and the whole state had watched them celebrating. The one where she walked Alyssa home and gave her her jacket and shared a goodbye kiss while four washed up Broadway actors watched from the car. Even though it’s all over now, the prom, high school, Alyssa, those pages can still trigger some stupid sappy warm feeling in her chest and make her smile on the rare occasion she pulls the yearbook out of the back of her closet.

But one happy (wonderful, amazing) memory doesn’t erase three years that could have been better and one year that was utterly painful. She isn’t sure what seeing all those people again (one person in particular) would do to her but she doesn’t like the possibility of all the ways it could end up going wrong. So she makes up her mind almost as soon as she finishes reading the letter; she’s not going.

That same day they Skype call Angie as she’s baking cupcakes. Or, attempting to bake cupcakes, while on the other side of the laptop screen Angie gets ready for a date (a 6 month anniversary date, she tells Emma, biting her lip in glee before having to wipe lipstick off her teeth).

“You okay sweetie?” she asks, dabbing at her teeth with a baby wipe.

“Of course,” Emma replies, checking the recipe again, bowl in hand. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because you’re stirring that cupcake batter extremely violently,” Angie replies. Emma lets out a quick breath and sets the bowl down, moving the spoon slowly around the pink and white mixture. “And you’re baking in general… and you tend not to bake unless you need an outlet.”

“You can’t prove that,” Emma tells her, albeit half-hearted. Quarter hearted, even. But Angie’s right. In the weeks it took her to work up the courage to come out as non-binary, Emma had baked three different cakes, a batch of brownies and two dozen cookies. It takes all Emma’s self-control not to pout, especially when Angie gives up on her make-up and sits down in front of the camera with half done eye make-up and what Emma can only describe as a ‘mom look’.

“Sweetie-”

“Don’t call me sweetie,” Emma sighs.

“Okay, Emma,” she begins. “What’s on your mind?” Emma feels her shoulders slump and she cranes her neck to look up at the ceiling. Part of her-a very, very big part-wants to keep this to herself and not burden Angie with her stupid problems, especially not when she’s getting ready to go have some fun. But part of her feels like she’s 18 years old again and in her bedroom and Angie’s pulling her out of her dark spot of teenage insecurity and good old fashioned anxiety, complete with ball changes and jazz hands.

“Okay,” she agrees, pulling up a chair and sitting down in front of the camera. “So a letter came today… about a high school reunion in Indiana.” She picks at a thread on her jeans. “And I don’t want to go.”

“Emma,” Angie replies. “Why not, that could be really fun.”

“It could be,” she admits. “Or it could be literal hell.”

“Those are two very far extremes, kid.” Emma runs a hand through her hair, shaking out for good measure. “And you know, you might see some people you like there, some old friends-”

“And we can reminisce over the death threats and bullying!” Emma replies in a sickeningly sweet tone. She regrets it as soon as they say it, even more so when they see Angie’s crestfallen face. Like a little kicked puppy. “I’m sorry Angie, I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay,” she says. “I’m sorry too. I forgot just how shitty those people were to you back then.”

“Understatement of the century.”

“That’s why you don’t want to go?” Angie asks softly. “Don’t want to see all those people again?”

“Yeah,” Emma sighs. She pulls the bowl onto their lap and begins stirring it again, the swirl in the bowl mirroring the thoughts swirling around her brain. “I know holding grudges gives you wrinkles.”

“But,” Angie reminds them. “Letting people hurt you again gives you less power. And you can always cover up your wrinkles.” At least that makes Emma laugh.

“And there’s someone else at that reunion I’m not sure I want to see,” she admits, pulling the spoon in and out of the cupcake batter.

“Oh,” Angie sighs. “Alyssa?”

“Alyssa.” Even her name causes a reaction in Emma. Her stupid, pretty, beautiful name that causes butterflies in her stomach and then painfully crushes them in under six seconds even four years after they broke up. “There’s no way she’ll miss something like this. Her mom was probably on the phone to her before the letter was even mailed.”

“You know, hon, you can’t hide form Alyssa forever.”

“I’m in another state,” Emma replies. “I think that’s good enough hiding, don’t you?”

“Point taken,” she says. “Emma, if you really don’t want to go, then don’t go.”

“I’m not,” she says bluntly. “I’m not going and no one can tell me not to.”

“Good for you.”

“I mean no one can make me right?” she asks, picking up the bowl and stirring the cupcake batter again. “And it would be the worst time. Who wants to go sit around with people who made their life hell for a year and eat gross Indiana food and spend something like 32 hours in a car? Did you know it’s 32 hours from LA to Indiana in a car?”

“I didn’t,” Angie says.

“Well, it is,” she says. “Which is unreasonable to ask of anyone. So there’s no way I’m driving that far and that long for some stupid reunion with people I don’t even like.”

“Uh huh,” Angie begins delicately. “Emma… Do you want to go?”

“What? No,” they reply, stirring her cupcake batter faster. “Why would I? I don’t-why would you even think that?” Angie raises an eyebrow silently and the silence stretches out until Emma hears what they just said echoed back at her. “Oh. Right.” She slumps in the chair, pushing the spoon around with her finger. “I don’t know. Maybe. Kind of?”

“But you don’t… want to want to?” Emma frowns at the screen, Angie apparently having dug up some part of her subconscious she hadn’t even realised existed yet. “Not just a pretty face, kid.”

“Definitely not just that,” she agrees with a small smile. “Do you think I should go?”

“I think,” she says slowly. “You should think about why you want to go.” As if Emma doesn’t already know. Like their grandma’s old crossword puzzles; six letter word for amazing. Or for ‘ruiner of Emma Nolan’s life and all future expectations for women, ever’. Or for ‘Emma’s biggest regret’.

‘Damn, slow down,’ she thinks.

“Go with your gut, kid,” Angie tells her. “You’re smart. You’ll know what to do.”

“Am I?” she asks. “Will I?”

“Yes you will,” she says. “You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for.”

“Thanks Ang,” Emma says with a small smile. “For everything.”

“Always time for you my little plaid bunny.”

“Your little what?” Emma asks.

“I was going for a nickname,” she explains. “No?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Well okay,” she says, picking up a blue eyeshadow palette, pointing at a deep indigo covered in sparkles. “Now you help me; what do you think of this colour.”

“It’s really nice,” she says, pretending she knows jack shit about make-up. Alyssa always took care of that, and despite Angie’s best efforts, the world of mascara and lipstick and what goes where and what does what is all alien to her. Still, after everything Angie just did for her, the least they can do is help her prep for her date. “It matches your dress.”

“That’s what I thought too! It wasn’t even that pricey, just-”

“Babe?” a voice calls out from the hallway, muffled by Angie’s closed bedroom door. “Hey, babe, you ready?”

“Zoey!” Angie squeaks. “We’re not meant to be going for another half an hour!”

“You gave them a key already?” Emma asks. “How serious are things here?”

“Um, kind of,” Angie says, hurriedly putting on a pair of tights and running a brush through her hair at the same time, somehow. “Okay I have to finish up here, just follow your gut. Love you!”

“Love you too!” she manages to get in just before the screen goes black.

That night, she feels painfully nostalgic. So she does what she normally does when their LA apartment feels too big and too empty; she pulls the yearbook out of the back of her closet, makes a mug of hot cocoa (significantly more cream than normal), sits on the big chair with a blanket around her and strolls down memory lane. Her cat Boots seems to pick up on her mood and jumps on the chair with her, burying herself into her favourite snuggle spot in Emma’s hip. She gives Boots an appreciative scratch behind the ears. She skips past most pictures of overnight trips she never went on and sports games she never attended; the all American high school experience her little outcast self never had. She takes an indulgent look at the music section, smiling as she takes in the photo of her at the Christmas concert performing an acoustic Silent Night as a freshman, complete with longer, frizzier hair and braces and even thicker glasses. And another one of her in sophomore year playing Ave Maria at the spring concert with a choir of freshmen singing. She takes care with the next photo; her singing Imagine at the Thanksgiving assembly, junior year. An echo of Alyssa’s voice rings throughout her head. She even remembers where Alyssa had been sitting; third row, eighth from the left. She’s either in love or a stalker, she’s not sure yet.

There’s one last photo in that section, and she won’t kid herself; she loves it. She’s thought about having it copied and framed and hung in the living room. It’s the photo of her at graduation, having been invited up onto the stage with her guitar to perform Unruly Heart one last time. Even in the photo she can see the tear running down her cheek as she sings. Even now she feels herself choking up, remembering the crowd she stood in front of, the sight of kids in her year softly singing the words back to her. The sight of Alyssa smiling tearfully, waiting to hug her before she could get off the stage.

She quickly takes another drink of cocoa and turns the page. She turns several pages in fact, flipping through the parts she couldn’t care less about and also the ones that bring back things she’d rather forget. Her shaky hands flip all the way to the final few pages, where their classmates signed on the last day of the school year. Having not been entirely forgiven for cancelling the first prom, or just because some of her classmates were homophobic assholes, her pages are significantly barer than the average high school senior’s would be. Some kind classmates scribbled their signatures down, even Kayleigh and Shelby added theirs, both with additional “I’m sorry” messages on the very last page and little doodles of pride flags. Emma tried to appreciate the effort, she really tried, but she was always met with a wall of bitterness she could never climb.

Then there’s a signature that takes up half of the second last page; purple Sharpie and looped handwriting with an A that stretches up to the middle of the page, a heart next to it and countless little kisses.

“Alyssa Greene.”

Emma lets out a long, steady breath. Almost half a decade later and the sight of her name almost brings her to tears. They used to think there was no sound more beautiful than her name. Like God took the most perfect syllables and sounds, arranged them in the best way, and there became Alyssa Greene. She cringes now, and she cringed at herself then, but they used to doodle “Emma Nolan-Greene” in the margins of her books before tearing the page out, ripping to shreds and throwing it in the garbage. Still, they liked the sound. Liked the idea of Alyssa being hers and her being Alyssa’s forever.

Then they grew up and the real world hit them and they realised forever is a teenager’s fantasy.

Emma lifts her cat into her lap and buries her hand in her fur. Angie had said ‘go with your gut’ but her gut is twisting and churning and pulling her in two different directions. To go or not to go. Towards or away from Alyssa. She lifts Boots up and holds her against her chest, their heartbeats beating against each other’s.

She shouldn’t go. It might-check that, definitely-will only end in pain for her. And yet the idea of that reunion happening and her not being there somehow manages to annoy her. Maybe it’s their pride, maybe it’s the feelings she keeps harbouring for a certain girl with a bright smile and sparkling eyes. And maybe part of her wants to show off her success and rub it in the faces of everyone who ever made her cry in a bathroom. After the bullying and the panic attacks and the tears, God knows she’s earned the right to be arrogant.

She lifts Boots up and looks her in the eye. The cat squirms and stretches, somehow making her body twice its original size. She doesn’t particularly get any warning signs off her, and she’s learned to trust Boots more than anyone else.

“If this doesn’t end well, I’m blaming you for not talking me out of it,” Emma warns before dropping a kiss on Boots’ face.

And that’s how Emma finds themselves standing on the steps of the nicest hotel (out of a choice of two) in Hope, Indiana in an indigo suit with her hair fluffed and held back by a sparkly blue barrette, her heart hammering against her ribs. She had even made the decision to put a shiny silver pin on her lapel, her pronouns-she/they-engraved into it. Partly in case anyone “forgot” and partly as another little ‘fuck you’ to her hometown. She stuffs her hands into the pocket of her blazer to keep them from shaking, but she can’t do anything to stop her legs from feeling like Jell-O. An all too familiar sensation creeps into her stomach and suddenly she’s back at age 18 having slurs written on locker.

She has to run. She needs to get on a bus and leave, now before something happens and she ends up throwing up on someone or running to a bathroom stall.

“Emma? Emma Nolan?”

Shit.

When she turns around, it doesn’t take long to work out who it is. Shelby has barely changed since her high school days, something Emma apparently shares with her if she could recognise her immediately. She stands a good bit away from her, her hands behind her back, wearing a peach mini dress and gold strappy heels.

“You look great!” she squeaks. “I’m glad you came.”

“Thanks,” she says warily. “You look nice too.”

“Oh! Thanks!” she says, pushing her hair off her shoulder and looking down at herself. “Um, should we go in? Or are you waiting for someone?”

Thanks, universe, Emma thinks.

“Yeah, if you can walk in those things,” she says, gesturing to Shelby’s heels.

“Oh I can,” she says, coming over to Emma as if to prove it. “Years of practice.”

“Cool.” Emma tries not to look down at her flat black Vans. “Um, let’s go in.”

“Sure!” They start climbing the steps, Emma’s heart getting louder and faster with every step they take. Shelby remains oblivious. “So, do you know anyone else coming? I don’t know exactly but apparently a lot of people RSVP-ed.”

“Um, I don’t know, I haven’t spoken to anyone who used to go here about it,” she confesses.

“Oh, really. Have you kept in contact with people much? It’s actually kind of weird but I went into my first day of class in freshman year of U of M, that’s where I ended up going, and Jackson and Becky were all sitting right there!” Emma listens and nods and murmurs ‘oh really?’ at the appropriate moments, thankful that Shelby has taken over the conversation. She’s not sure her mouth can even form words right now.

“So did you?” she hears Shelby asking through the ringing in her ears.

“I… what?” Emma asks dumbly, her cheeks flushing red.

“Did you end up in college with anyone here?” she asks.

“Oh… no,” they reply. “No one went to LA.” Not one person in particular, she thinks. She swallows the lump in her throat and fake a smile. “Fresh start.”

“LA? Emma that’s awesome!” Shelby says. “I knew you got a tan, ugh, you look so pretty. I’d have to spend hours in the tanning beds for that colour.”

“Thanks,” they say, unsure if it’s actually a compliment. It must be by Shelby’s standards. Still, Shelby smiles and scurries up to the table set up outside the large oak double doors, complete with stained glass window and a piece of paper with “James Madison High School Reunion” typed on it. Pretty.

“Names?” the attendant asks, a skinny pale ginger kid probably a senior in the school now.

“Um, Emma Nolan.”

“Shelby Carter.”

The kid hands Emma a plastic name tag with her name typed on it and a safety pin, and one for Shelby too. She pins it to the lapel of their jacket, just below her pronoun pin and taps at it, the light bouncing off it and the plastic wobbling.

“Guess they spent all the budget on the dinner,” she mutters, following Shelby into the main hall.

Inside, the walls are a dirty white and the floor is mostly covered with circular tables covered in a blue and white checked table cloth and centrepieces featuring heart shaped red and yellow balloons. On the other side, above the stage, there’s a banner reading “Welcome Back, Class of 2018” stretched across the wall, seemingly pulled as tight as it possibly can and possibly in danger of snapping or tearing at any moment. Emma can relate. Still, despite the need for a paint job, it’s not awful.

“Everything looks nice, doesn’t it?” Shelby asks.

“I guess,” Emma supposes, half unfocussed. “Yeah, it’s pretty.”

“Do you want to get a drink, maybe?” Shelby asks, gesturing to the bar at the other end of the room, where there was already a small crowd. Emma finds it hard not to scream in relief.

“Oh God yeah,” she says. This time they end up ahead of Shelby, who hurries behind her as she makes her way to the bar. Emma gets a bottle of Coors while Shelby sips on a non-alcoholic strawberry daquiri. The minute Emma feels the ice cold alcohol running down her throat, she starts to believe she might survive this if she can just make it to the bar at regular intervals. As Shelby taps her arm, she thinks those intervals may need to be a bit more regular.

“Kaylee!” Shelby greets, hugging the girl next to them tightly.

Maybe Emma will have to switch to vodka.

“Kaylee, you remember Emma, right?” Shelby says, gesturing to Emma. As Shelby moves, Emma gets a better view of Kaylee. She’s taller than she was in high school, her hair cut short and sleek, the waves of her teen years gone, and blonde streaks through it. She wears a tight fitting black dress and silver heels, clutching a black purse. She looks beautiful, Emma can’t deny that, but also out of place here.

“How could I forget?” she replies. “Emma how are you?”

_Yeah, you can’t forget. Wouldn’t want you to,_ Emma thinks, but holds it back and hides it behind another smile and a sip of her beer.

“I’m great, thanks,” she replies. “You know, I was telling Shelby I live out in LA now.”

“Oh, LA, that’s awesome!” she says. “You must love it out there. What are you up to now?”

Emma can’t help but puff out her chest a little, a smug smile forcing its way onto her face that she can’t wipe away.

“Well, I’m going to start on a Master’s course soon,” she says, swirling her beer around her bottle. “It’s a music therapy one.”

“Oh wow, Emma that sounds amazing!” Shelby says. “You were always so good at music and stuff.”

“Yeah, so you’re going to be a therapist now?” Kaylee asks, taking a little sip of the white wine in her hand.

“Yeah, that’s the plan,” she says. “I’ve already done the music degree, so then it’s just get the Masters, and certificate exam, and then hopefully get my licence.” It’s a long road, even longer when it’s said out loud, she knows that more than anyone, but she’ll get there. If she doesn’t think so, at least she has Angie reminding her every other day.

“Aww, well fingers crossed for you,” Shelby says, holding up her crossed fingers.

“Oh my gosh!” Kaylee interrupts. “Is that Nick?” Emma follows Kaylee’s gaze as she covers her mouth with her hand. Sure enough, a guy stands in the middle of the room, leaning against one of the tables in conversation with someone she can’t recognise for the life of her. It could be Nick; he has the same broad shoulders and dark hair. “Oh gosh it can’t be him.” Emma swallows a laugh at her repeated use of ‘gosh’. They’re not sure what college Kaylee went to, but she remembers the days when she could curse out anyone in the halls. A lot of those curse words were directed at Emma in particular. “Ugh, hide me.”

“I take it things didn’t end well with you two?” she asks, trying not to giggle as Kaylee cowers behind Shelby. Emma catches Shelby’s eye and notices her biting her lip as the corners of her mouth quirk up.

“You could say that,” Kaylee says, shaking her head so that her hair flips out of her face. “I was really hoping he wouldn’t show up here. He never showed up to school events when we were in high school!”

“Well, maybe people get more mature,” Emma suggests.

“Anyway, it’s been years, hasn’t it?” Shelby asks. “I bet he’s moved on.”

“Well…” Kaylee says, tossing her hair and taking a rather large drink of her wine. The nosy part of Emma that’s still in high school wants to know everything. “Speaking of romances, Emma, are you still with Alyssa?”

Leave it Kaylee to bring that up.

“Uh…” Emma looks down at the bottom of her bottle. She’s not even half way through and she’ll need another soon. Maybe something stronger. “Um, Alyssa and I haven’t spoken in a while.” He watches as Shelby’s face falls and Kaylee avoids her eyes entirely.

“Oh… Well, these things happen, right?” Shelby asks. “I mean, you know, people move on and we meet people and-”

“Yeah, it happens,” she echoes, her voice flat. She blinks hard, feeling the tears brewing against her eyelids. “Shit, excuse me.”

She pushes past them and speeds straight to the bathroom, feeling the concerned eyes of Shelby on her back and the probably less concerned eyes of Kaylee. The lights blur and merge together as tears burn in her eyes. Damn Kaylee. Damn Alyssa. Damn herself for being such an emotional freaking wreck.

Thankfully, the bathroom has no line and she can march right into a stall, lock the door and sit on the toilet, her feet tucked up beneath her and one hand on the wall. She lets out a long shuddering breath as tears run down her face and land on the floor. Stupid Emma with her stupid heart holding onto someone who left her almost half a decade ago. Stupid Alyssa with her charm and whatever the hell it is she does to her that makes Emma keep wanting her. Stupid Emma for letting her go.

Emma takes the compact mirror out of their pocket and checks her reflection, noticing the blotchy, red eyes despite her having stopped crying. Hopefully with a little cold water she’ll look completely normal and she can blame all of this on allergies or that time of the month or food poisoning. According to her watch, there’s just five short hours until it would be socially acceptable for her to slip out. Four and a half if people get really drunk, and if her classmates haven’t changed too much, that won’t be a problem.

She heads to the sink with a crumpled up toilet paper in their hand, running it under the cold tap and holding it against her eye, counting ten seconds. While this is far from the first time she’s had to do this, she’s thankful for the fact that they haven’t done so in a while. She looks at their reflection, satisfied with what they see and make to leave, about to offer a mumbled apology to the figure behind them, when two cogs in her brain click together and she feels all the air rush out of her lungs. Somehow, her weak legs turn around to see it for real, half-convinced she’s making this up, more than half-hoping she is.

Sparkling brown eyes, dark curls held back in a bun, a few stray locks framing her face, the most perfect face in existence, Emma used to think. She’s happy to see time hasn’t proven her wrong. An off the shoulder purple dress that’s too similar to one she saw a long time ago. She always looked lovely in purple. A shy, soft smile and nervous hands wringing together. Manicured nails scratching against soft skin, pearl white teeth biting into the same lips she had kissed over and over and had professed love for Emma.

“Alyssa,” she says, their voice just above a whisper, but enough for her to hear.

“Emma,” she greets. “You look nice.”

“Thanks,” she says dumbly. “Um, you look good too.”

“Really? Thanks,” she replies, brushing her hand over the loose skirt of her dress. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“In the bathroom?” she says almost without thinking, her voice suddenly stronger. She sounds like her old self, the one that spent every day with Alyssa and had planned out a future in her mind with her. Alyssa snorts and giggles, hiding behind her hand. Emma’s mind flashes back to a particular day in the bathroom in senior year, early in the morning in December, when Alyssa did that exact laugh and Emma’s heart had melted on the spot.

She sounds like her grandma, but those were the good old days. Now, instead of continuing to dissolve into giggles every time they make eye contact, Alyssa’s laugh fades away into a tense silence.

“It’s um… it’s good to see you,” Alyssa offers.

“Thanks,” Emma repeats, her brain seemingly frozen. “Um, you too. I’ll see you around.”

“I guess-”

Emma heads out of the bathroom, pushing the door open and stepping into the red carpeted hallway with a sigh. She looks up at the white ceiling like she can look through it and through the roof of the hotel and through the atmosphere and straight to Heaven so that she can ask God what the hell she did to deserve this.

Since running into Alyssa in the bathroom, Emma finds she can’t avoid her now. Everywhere she goes now, Alyssa is either standing around that area or is somewhere in her line of vision, like a ghost in a violet dress that’s committed to haunting her after she desecrated her grave.

Emma’s on their third beer by the time she sits down at a table, ready for the food to be served. She feels the alcohol humming in their veins, and definitely in her cheeks, and she finds herself grateful for the jug of water in the middle of the table but remains more grateful for the alcohol. She just about manages to block out Shelby incessant questioning of their former classmates, older faces they can just about place in a memory, names she can vaguely recall being called out in attendance during homeroom. As she scans the room, it doesn’t escape her attention how what her grandma called “the worst offenders” back in high school avoid her entirely, sitting at opposite tables. It’s a strange combination of hurt and relief, even more so when they avoid her gaze in the bathroom line or leave the bar the minute she approaches, their drinks abandoned. She can never get a glimpse of their faces, but at least then she can live in hope that there’s a look of shame all across them.

“Is this seat taken?”

No but damn I wish it was, Emma thinks as she turns around. Alyssa hovers nervously next to the chair, biting her lip, her perfectly manicured hands on the back of the chair.

“If it is it’s fine, there’s other tables-”

“No, it’s fine,” Emma says, swallowing the lump in their throat. They gesture to the chair. “Sit down.”

“Thanks,” she whispers, taking her seat and smoothing down her skirt. Emma could swear it’s almost the same shade as her prom dress was, but the skirt is longer and less fluffy for a lack of a better word. No sparkles on this one and she’s wearing black pumps instead of the sneakers she wore that night. Emma really liked that dress. She had liked unlacing it in her bedroom at 2am and kissing Alyssa’s bare shoulder even more.

When she dares to take a glance at her, she notices the small smile playing on Alyssa’s lips, her brown eyes on them before suddenly looking away.

“What?” Emma asks, her tone not entirely unfriendly.

“Nothing,” Alyssa says. The smile drops but it’s still there. “I’m just glad to see you still wearing a suit.” Emma tugs on her jacket, letting out a small laugh.

“You can take the gay out of the prom,” she says.

“So I hear along the grape vine you stayed in LA?” Alyssa mentions.

“Where else would I go?” Emma comments. She hopes that harsh tone is just in her head. “What about you? Still in Illinois?”

“I moved a year ago,” she confesses. “New York.”

“Oh, really?” Emma asks. “What brought you there?”

“Internship,” Alyssa explains, sitting up more. “It’s in this really cool museum. I’ve actually been put in charge of this whole new exhibit.”

“What’s the exhibit?”

“LGBT history,” she answers, biting her lip, dimples in her cheeks as she smiles. Emma can’t help but smiling back, something proud blooming in her chest despite everything. The girl who avoided anything gay-related with fearful eyes is now proudly overseeing an exhibit on her own history.

“Sounds awesome.”

“If you’re ever in New York,” she begins delicately. “Maybe you should come see it?”

“Maybe,” she answers. Maybe is one of her new favourite words. There’s a certain lack of commitment to it that she finds safe. “I’ll tell Barry about it. He’d love that kind of stuff.”

“You’re still in contact with Barry?” Alyssa asks, to which Emma nods. “That’s great! I saw him on a billboard in Broadway, but I’ve never, you know… talked to him.”

“Try stage door at the Longachre,” Emma jokes.

“How is he?”

“Married,” Emma replies. Alyssa’s face lights up in that bright and earnest way that takes her breath away.

“That’s so great,” she says. “I’m so happy for him.”

“Yeah, his husband’s pretty awesome,” she says, turning more towards her and leaning forward. “This highbrow lawyer that was a fan of his show. Barry says he gave him his number at stage door.”

“Aw, that’s adorable.” Emma’s hand moves and wraps around her phone, her news dancing on her tongue and pushing her mouth open.

“They actually have a kid now,” she says proudly. “Would you believe that I’m a godparent now?” The phone is out of her pocket by now, the blank screen already poised at Alyssa.

Alyssa presses her hands to her mouth, a small squeal of glee emitting from her that makes Emma laugh.

“No way, that’s awesome!” she says. “Emma, you must be so happy!”

“I am,” she admits, holding her phone shyly. “Do you want to see her?”

“Oh God, yes!”

Emma doesn’t even have to open her phone to show her the photo; it’s her lock screen. Her and Barry smiling at the camera with a bouncy, dark haired toddler on Emma’s lap, one chubby fist closed around Barry’s finger and smears of jam on her cheeks. Emma can’t help smiling even as they show Alyssa the picture, pride blooming in her chest and rushing through her in a way she supposes she’ll never really understand. And when she sees the open, sparkling smile on Alyssa’s face, she understands their own feelings less and less.

“She’s adorable!” Alyssa squeals, her fingertips just touching the edge of her phone. “Barry looks completely smitten.”

“Oh he is,” Emma tells her. “He is completely wrapped around her little finger. He can never say no to her, it’s amazing. Literally three minutes after this photo was taken, his husband, Phil, had to take Vanessa off him because he kept giving her cupcakes. She did throw up an hour later, though.”

“He always gave off the energy that he’d be a great dad,” Alyssa remarks. Her hands ball up in her skirt, her mouth opening and closing again, a remark seeming to die on her tongue. “What about everyone else? Angie, Trent, Dee Dee?”

“All doing great,” Emma says. “Trent moved to Chicago; he got a job in his great high school teaching drama there.”

“He’s still teaching. That’s great. He was such an awesome teacher when he was here.”

“He loves it,” Emma insists. “I’ve been up to see him a few times now, just on college breaks and stuff. Oh, I was actually in Chicago for Pride last year, it was so much fun. He had this big ace flag and I had my lesbian one, and we marched in the parade together, it was awesome.”

“He’s ace? Trent?” Alyssa asks, and the realisation hits Emma, bringing them from her place amongst the stars back to Earth with a loud, painful crash. Of course Alyssa doesn’t know about Trent; she can’t have given that Emma hasn’t spoken to Alyssa, about Trent or anyone, in years. “That’s great, I’m happy for him.”

“Yeah,” Emma says, hoping they’re still smiling. “He’s really open about it. He helps organise the school’s LGBT+ society. The kids love him for it.” Alyssa bites her lip, dimples appearing in her cheeks as she smiles, a knowing glint in her eye. “What?”

“Just seems you had an impact on them,” she says softly. Emma’s cheeks turn pink and she rubs the back of her neck, fluffing her hair. She watches as Alyssa scratches at the middle of her palm and wonders if she’s fighting the urge to pick at her nails, a habit she had yet to break out of the last time she saw her. Her own nails were torn to shreds that night. “Do you still talk to Angie and Dee Dee?”

“A lot, yeah,” Emma says. “I talked to Angie a while ago… She’s doing great. She has a partner now, and I think it’s pretty serious…”

“Serious how?”

“She gave them a key type serious,” she responds, quirking an eyebrow. Alyssa’s mouth falls into a perfect o shape. “They haven’t even been together that long.”

“Well, I guess when you find ‘the one’,” Alyssa begins. “Time doesn’t really matter.” Her voice is so soft that it sends a shock to Emma’s heart, her eyes wide and Emma could trick herself into believing they’re hopeful.

“I guess,” she replies, praying for an interruption. A slightly spiteful remark about how distance shouldn’t matter either sits dormant in her brain, the cruel, angry part of her begging her to abandon her integrity and spit it right in Alyssa’s face, but she sits quietly, looking around her for something to change the topic to.

“Hey guys!” Kaylee plants herself on the seat next to Emma, swaying slightly, her smile too wide to be sober. “This seat taken?”

“No, sit down,” Emma mumbles, sighing in relief.

“It’s so nice to see you two again!” she says, leaning on the table. “I was just telling Shelby… oh shit I lost Shelby, where’d Shelby go?”

“Right here, Kaylee,” Shelby assures her, patting her shoulders and sharing an apologetic look with Emma and Alyssa. Emma sees Alyssa wave her apologies away with a smile and she manages a nod.

“Yeah… anyway I was just telling Shelby how weird it is seeing everyone again,” Kaylee goes on, waving her hand. “You know, back when we used to think we’d all know each other forever. I mean I thought you two…” She waves her hand in their general direction and Emma feels panic hitting her chest, her eyes flitting to an anxious looking Alyssa. “Were going to be together forever, y’know? But now Emma’s telling us you two broke up?”

“Anyway,” Shelby interrupts, putting an arm across Kaylee, who pouts at her, and leaning on the table. “Alyssa, what are you up to now? You went to college in Evanston, right?”

“Yeah, Northwestern,” she says, smiling. “But I was just telling Emma, I moved out to New York last year, I love it there.”

“Oh, I bet it is,” Shelby says. “So what do you there? Didn’t you do some art thing?”

“Art history. And literature,” she corrects. “And I work in a museum now. Overseeing exhibits, organising stuff, that kind of thing.” Emma wonders if they imagine Alyssa sitting up straighter, puffing her chest forward. But she definitely doesn’t imagine the knowing smirk she shares with her. “And right now, I’m overseeing this LGBT history exhibit.” Emma smirks too, despite the nerves clenching in her heart, she looks back Shelby and Kaylee, their taunts and glares and middle fingers flashing through their mind as she looks at their painted, polite smiles.

“Oh, that’s cool,” Shelby says. “I bet you have a lot of fun doing that.”

“It’s interesting,” she agrees. Emma sees her pressing her palms together. “I’ve really loved putting the whole thing together. It became sort of a passion project, I guess.”

“And… are there lesbians?” Kaylee asks, the alcohol completely removing her filter, if she ever had one to begin with. Alyssa and Emma look at each other, mouths hanging open, Emma trying to hold back a laugh. Shelby buries her scarlet face in her hands, shaking her head at her former best friend.

“Um… yeah,” Alyssa answers. “Yeah, there’s a pretty big lesbian history section in the exhibit. We’ve included as much from every community as we can, but you know how it is, for some people there’s not a lot of recorded history-”

“No,” Kaylee interrupts. “Well yeah, that’s cool, but I mean, are there actual lesbians in New York.”

“Kaylee I am taking you home!” Shelby groans, pulling at her hair. She looks over at Emma and Alyssa in despair, mouthing an apology. Emma mouths back ‘It’s fine’, feeling an unusual twinge of sympathy, which she isn’t used to and doesn’t particularly like either.

“Yeah, there’s lesbians in New York,” Alyssa answers delicately, pulling on her skirt. “Quite a few actually.”

“Oh,” Kaylee says, nodding solemnly, as if Alyssa had just told her the secret to her amazing lasagne. If she wasn’t too drunk to be sarcastic, Emma could be offended on Alyssa’s behalf. “What about you, Emma? Isn’t California meant to be like, crawling with lesbians?”

“Um, kind of,” Emma says. It’s leaps and bounds ahead of Indiana, that’s for sure. “I mean, I’ve met a few, through college and stuff, you know?”

“So you can like… still date and stuff out there?” Kaylee asks, leaning on the table heavily. Emma reckons she’ll be passed out before they can bring out the first course.

“Yes, I can still date,” Emma replies bluntly. “Can you, Kaylee?” Beside her, Alyssa almost spits out whatever she was drinking. Shelby tries to keep her face neutral, but Emma notices her spluttering laughter hidden behind her manicured hand. Kaylee frowns; no doubt she’s struggling to put two and two together in the alcohol induced haze but she nods anyway. Emma wonders if her words even registered with her at all.

“And are you still like… non-binary?” she goes on, leaning on her closed fist.

“Yep. Still non-binary. Still using they and them. And she and her too. Whichever.” She flashes a quick peace sign, unsure of what else to do with her hands.

“Uh, anyway,” Shelby says, pushing her hair away from her face. “Um-”

“Shelby what are you doing now?” Emma says, earning them a grateful smile from Shelby. “You went to do Physics, right?”

“Yeah,” she says. “I took a year off, so I literally just graduated last year.”

“Oh, you took a year off?” Alyssa asks.

“Yeah, college was just… I wasn’t ready, you know. So I took some time off, did a lot of volunteering. Charity work, you know?”

“Oh that’s cool,” Emma says. “Any specific kind of charity?”

“Um, I spent most of the year volunteering in Trinity Haven,” Shelby explains.

“Oh,” Emma says, recognising the name immediately. After one particular argument with her parents, she had Googled their name and written their phone number down on a sticky note which he then hid inside a textbook. She isn’t sure what she’s feeling, but there’s a warmth in her chest and the corners of her mouth twitch up before she can stop them, and that has to count for something. “That’s… that’s really cool Shelby.”

“Thanks,” she says, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “I just felt like… that kind of work’s really important. Looking out for people who need it.” She keeps looking over at Emma and Alyssa, her eyes wide, her mouth opening and closing slightly as her cheeks turn slightly red. Emma nods at her, smiling gently. There’s a lot of words that Emma gets the feeling Shelby wants to say, and she’d like nothing more than to hear her saying them, but there’s a time and a place for that. And in this time and place, that was a pretty good start.

“So you worked in the shelter?” Alyssa asks, leaning more on the table and smiling easier now. Her drink sits untouched and practically ignored.

“Yeah, I did,” Shelby answers. “The way it worked was that it was a different job every day. I was there three days a week, because I helped in an animal shelter the other days. So I worked in the cafeteria, one day, then did laundry another day and then I helped welcome newcomers another day-”

They let Shelby rattle on about her volunteering, her eyes lighting up as she does so and Emma lets her take control of the conversation. It gives her an excuse to sit back and maybe stop worrying. Heck maybe learn to calm down and possibly even lighten up. Or just an excuse to look at Alyssa. Either works.

She’s leaning on the table now, her ankles crossed, hanging onto Shelby’s every word. She somehow looks the same as she did at 18, or maybe that’s just Emma. She hates clichés and all that corny romance bullshit, but Alyssa does look just as beautiful. Right down to the dimples in her cheeks. Damn Emma loves that dimple. Especially when she was the reason for it.

She wonders if she blocks everyone and everything else away, will she be able to pretend it’s just them. Pretend even harder and make believe they’re 18 and at their senior prom. Not that fake one that smashed Emma’s soul, heart and dignity; the real one where they danced and there were washed up Broadway actors behind them and dozens of couples with their unruly hearts all around them. Emma had never felt more at home than she did there. She still hasn’t.

But that was then and this is now she still remembers what she said to Alyssa. She remembers biting back tears standing on the street just as it was getting dark, remembers Alyssa’s wet cheeks and shaking voice.

_‘I love you,’ Emma had pleaded, grasping Alyssa’s hand and holding it against their chest. Right over their heart. They were standing in the garden outside Emma’s dorms, street lights half illuminating Alyssa, cars occasionally passing and breaking the otherwise silent and still air._

_‘I love you too,’ Alyssa had replied, wiping tears off her face. ‘But I can’t wait for you behind a computer screen every night. I can’t use all my Spring Break on you-’_

_‘Well if I’m that much of a burden then just go,’ they snap, dropping her hand. Their own hands start shaking. The sudden change in their emotions leave them with a slight headache that they try to ignore._

_‘Emma, that’s not what I meant-_

_‘I think it is.’_

_‘Emma, I don’t want to-’ she stops speaking, her voice cracking as her mouth opens and closes. Emma has only seen this side of Alyssa on rare occasions; moments where the girl who seems so strong reaches her limit, where the suit of armour she’s built around herself cracks and crumbles and she’s left defenceless. In senior year she saw it more times than she wanted to. There was that one moment in the school, after the painful disaster of an ‘inclusive’ prom, where she had watched Alyssa break as she poured her heart out to Emma. And then Emma had walked away._

_Emma shakes that image out of their mind, wishing they had never made that connection. But maybe they made it for a reason. Maybe history is repeating itself. _

No_ they think. _Anything but that._ Even though their hands are shaking and they want to scream until their throat is raw and bleeding. Even though they’re angry at her, which is their least favourite feeling in the world._

_‘Emma,’ Alyssa whispers. Emma steps forwards, reaching out their hand and brushing it against Alyssa’s wrist. ‘Emma just with everything going on… I don’t know if I can keep doing this.’_

_‘If you can keep doing me,’ they say harshly. ‘That’s what you mean.’_

_‘Emma, I know this is hard,’ she says, mascara running down her cheeks. ‘Believe me I don’t want to do this-’_

_‘Then don’t!’ they snap. ‘It’s that simple, Alyssa. If you don’t want to walk away from me, then don’t do it.’_

_‘And spend the rest of our lives talking to each other on computer screens?’ Alyssa asks. ‘Only getting to hold you twice a year. I can’t.’_

_‘College isn’t forever,’ Emma begs._

_‘Emma, stuff’s getting really hard,’ she says. ‘College, my grades. My mom’s already been on my ass and you know what she’s like-’_

_‘Yeah, I know what she’s like,’ they mutter, glaring at Alyssa from behind her glasses._

_‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’ she asks, suddenly defensive._

_‘Nothing.’ Emma sticks her hands in their pockets. ‘Just like you said. I know what your mother’s like.’_

_‘Yeah, so I thought maybe you’d understand!’ she shouts and Emma flinches at her tone. They wonder for the briefest of moments if that’s what Alyssa feels like listening to her. But it’s a flicker and then gone, burned up in the heat of the fight. ‘I thought maybe you’d appreciate how hard this is for me!’_

_‘Alyssa I have been so appreciative!’ they spit back. ‘I waited for you in a band closet every day for months! I stood outside a fake prom and was made a laughing stock and you never came!’_

_‘Why the hell are you bringing that up?’_

_‘I just think that after everything I’ve done for you, maybe you could try to do the same for me.’_

_‘I have tried so hard!’ she exclaims, her hand balling up into a fist. ‘Emma, I have skipped on studying and socials just to sit and FaceTime with you. And I love you so much and maybe if we were in the same state it could be easier but I don’t know how many more times I can fall asleep in a puddle of Red Bull on a Skype call!’_

_‘Well maybe if you can’t-’ The words catch in their throat, squeezing so tightly she can’t breathe. Tears blur her vision, stinging their eyes. It hurts, and they hope they wake up from what is just a bad dream. They don’t though; her vision clears and Alyssa’s still standing there with her arms wrapped around herself._

_‘Maybe long distance isn’t meant for us,’ she whispers._

_Emma stumbles backwards. They want to contradict her and tell here that there’s no distance too far for them. That’s how it’s meant to be. They’re meant to stay together forever, no matter how far apart they are. Isn’t that what love is?_

_‘Fine,’ is what they say instead. ‘If that’s how you feel then just go. I won’t stop you.’ Alyssa rolls her lips into a thin line, her hands curling into fists at her side. Meanwhile, Emma flinches at the burning pain in their chest, flickering weakly and growing rapidly and steadily until her chest physically hurts. Right on her heart. Can you die from a heartbreak? Emma feels like they’re about to find out._

_‘I’m sorry,’ Alyssa whispers, her breath forming smoke against the black sky. ‘I’m sorry. I wish this was different.’_

_‘Me too,’ Emma chokes out. They watch as Alyssa slowly turns away, watches as her hands clutch her elbows as she starts walking away from her. Their body feels frozen, the cold spreading from her feet and covering their hips, their stomach, their chest, making them shiver even in their thick coat. Alyssa gets smaller and smaller, the dark of the night making her all the more hard to make out. Emma thinks that they’d know Alyssa anywhere and until now she had believed it, but what about tomorrow? And the day after and the day after and the day after? What if one day, years from now, they walk past Alyssa and don’t even recognise her._

_The thought scares the shit out of them. Almost as much as the idea of running after her does. Almost as much._

When the dinner is over, Emma feels sick and she knows it’s not all to do with the banoffee pie. Whatever she eats turns to a nauseating mush in her mouth and that taste can’t be drowned out with any kind of alcohol, no matter what kind. And she’s tried a lot. It doesn’t have a taste now and if it has an effect on her she hasn’t noticed. Maybe it is the alcohol that’s causing her heart to race, that’s the reason she has to lean on the bar and why her head is spinning. Or maybe it’s one Alyssa Greene, tempest in purple she couldn’t escape no matter how badly she wants to.

Either way, she’s leaving. She mumbles some half-hearted excuse to Shelby and Kaylee, the former of which probably didn’t even notice her going. Part of her feels bad for leaving Shelby to deal with a very, very wasted Kaylee, but she’s too far gone to care at this point. She just needs to get outside before the ceiling collapses on her or she starts crying or she throws up, or some plague of locusts descends on them, because knowing her luck anything could happen. At least if a small disaster happened, no one would be able to see her crying. She thinks bitterly that anyone who wanted to probably got their fill of that in senior year.

She stumbles out the front door, having rejected the help of one of the waiters. She fills her lungs with the cool night air again and again until she begins to feel somewhat normal again. For the hundredth time that night, she curses herself but curses Angie at the same time, because she did promise that if this went wrong, she would pin some of the blame on Angie. She sits on the stone wall of the stairs, one foot underneath her while the other dangles just above the ground. She takes the barrette out of her hair and shakes it, letting it fly around her face. She pulls part of it in front of her face, partly obscuring her view of the parking lot. Her red pick-up truck sticks out even in the dark. She smiles sadly at it. She’s held onto it since she was 17, despite her grandma insisting she can buy her a new one. There’s something comforting in sitting in the same seat, the same fuzzy dice dangling from the mirror. There’s new additions now; a little pink smiley face stuck to the front window and some fluffy cushions in the back, which turned out to come in handy once or twice during her college years.

“Hi.” What a way to kill Emma’s sweetly nostalgic yet happy mood. She turns slightly to see Alyssa standing at the top of the stairs, picking at her nail and smiling at her. She really wishes she wasn’t smiling. Or here at all, despite Emma wanting to be around her more than anyone else at this stupid reunion. “You okay?”

“Peachy,” she replies. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know,” she admits, beginning to walk down to her. “I just saw you leaving. You looked… You left in a hurry, I guess.”

“You saw me?” she asks, pushing her hair away from her face.

“Yeah,” she answers, shrugging. “Couldn’t miss you if I tried.” Emma’s heart leaps and Emma has to try to force it to shut up, but it’s not easy when every part of her brain is screaming along with her crazy heart. Unruly, that’s what she had described it as. She wasn’t wrong.

“Did anyone else see me?” is what she says.

“I don’t know,” Alyssa answers, shrugging. “I mean, no one else came after you.”

“Because Hope, Indiana is known for its hospitality,” she jokes. Alyssa chuckles lightly.

“True,” she says. She stands next to Emma, wringing her hands awkwardly, her eyes looking anywhere but Emma herself, until Emma pats the space next to her with her foot.

“Want to sit?” she asks. “I know the chairs in there are nicer, but…”

“Thanks,” she replies, laughing slightly. She smooths her dress out before sitting down and looking up at Emma. She’s still smiling and Emma isn’t sure why. She knows Alyssa has reason to be mad at her. And if she wasn’t smiling it would be a lot easier on her. “It’s really nice to see you again.”

It is?

“Thanks,” Emma replies. “You too.”

“I didn’t think you would come,” Alyssa says. Emma’s head snaps up, looking at her playing with the hem of her dress. She shrugs lightly. “I mean, you couldn’t get out of here fast enough at graduation.”

“Yeah well…” Alyssa doesn’t need to say what she’s thinking; Emma is fairly confident that they’re both remembering Emma at the graduation party when she got more than a little drunk and yelled profanities at the attendees before flipping them off and going home to pass out on her grandma’s couch at 2am. Emma smirks. Damn that was a fun last impression. “What’s this town ever done for me.”

Alyssa hums in agreement, looking down at her joined hands. Emma can’t remember a time when they sat like this; conversation running dry and the silence thick and awkward as she stumbles around her mind for something to say. Back in the good old days (god she really is turning into her grandma) their silence was soft and gentle, warmth buzzing between them as they held each other whatever way they could.

“So, how’s your grandma?” Alyssa asks.

“Better than she has any right to be, given her age,” Emma replies. “No, she’s doing great. I mean, she broke her hip last year, but you’d barely notice it now.” Those months had been the most terrifying of Emma’s life to date; keeping her phone in her hand every moment she could, waking up in the middle of the night expecting the worst. But she doesn’t need to know that. “She’s back on her feet, going to Bingo. She comes up to California a lot too.”

“So, same old Betsy?”

“Same old Betsy. She’s taking the Ally thing a lot further. She went out and bought this big ass pride flag and had “I LOVE MY LESBIAN GRANDCHILD” printed on it for Pride last year. And then made a non binary pride poncho for me. They’re on Facebook.”

“Oh my gosh that’s amazing!” she laughs, leaning back a little. Emma presses her thumb into her palm, polite etiquette saying that she return the question, but that’s one of the many doors she doesn’t want to open with Alyssa. And Mrs Greene’s name leaves a bitter taste in her mouth despite the smiles at graduation and the photos she took of her with her arms wrapped around her daughter.

“Speaking of allies… how about Shelby?” she says instead. “Out there helping LGBT kids like she’s the new Mother Theresa or some shit.”

“I know,” Alyssa agrees, pushing a strand of air away from her face. “I guess people really do change.” Emma doesn’t miss the hitch in her voice, the way it wavers and cracks. The part of her that’s still stuck in the past and stuck on her wants to wrap her up in a hug and press her cheek against her bare back and listen to her letting out all her problems.

“You okay?” she asks, indulging that part of herself. She’ll regret this possibly, most likely, definitely. But hey, there’s no bigger regret than the girl sitting in front of her.

“Fine,” she replies, letting out a long breath.

“Liar.” Emma turns and scoots closer until they’re just a breath away from each other. The elephant in the room stares at Emma with such intensity she can almost feel it burning. An elephant with a tray of PTA brownies and a spotless white pantsuit. “Your mom?”

“Isn’t it always?” she asks bitterly. She rolls her lips into a thin line as her eyes water. Instinct takes over and Emma’s hand curls around hers. She feels a grateful squeeze. “I guess she’s better than she used to be but sometimes… I hear her telling people at family events about how upset she is that no one will inherit my brown eyes now. Or how badly she wants grandkids. Like I can’t still have them if I want to.” She lets out a stinging laugh. “And acts like lesbian is still a dirty word. I brought this girl I had been seeing home for Thanksgiving and she kept calling her my friend.” She shakes her head, her brown curls shaking and swaying under the hotel’s artificial lights. “Guess you know you’ve had a pretty crap deal when freaking Shelby is more open and liberal and made more progress than your own mom has!”

“Oh my God, Lyss,” Emma sighs. “I’m so sorry.” Alyssa shakes her head, wiping her eyes.

“Thank God for waterproof mascara,” she mutters. “It’s fine. I’m fine, I guess.” Emma shakes her head, raising an eyebrow in a manner that says, ‘I call your bullshit’. Alyssa giggles slightly. “Okay I’m not exactly fine. Just… onwards and upwards, right? I signed up for this.” Emma shakes her head, muttering ‘no’ softly. She’ll be damned if Alyssa or anyone lets themselves think that about being gay. “At least she can’t touch me in New York.” She gives Emma a teasing smile. “In my second year, I became secretary of the LGBT Society. Never told her, but it felt really good.” She bites her lip, her thumb rubbing the back of Emma’s hand, sending goose bumps up her arm. “Sorry I dumped all this on you.”

“It’s okay,” she says. She hesitates for a moment and then reaches up and pushes a lock of her hair away from her face, her fingers trailing on her cheekbone.

“You know,” she says softly. “No one’s called me Lyss since… since you did.”

“Really?” Emma won’t deny that she’s glad, even if it’s petty. Any other girl can have Alyssa, but Lyss is her thing. “Not… the girl you brought home to your mom?”

“Nope.” Alyssa shakes her head, biting her lip as she smiles. “She’s not really in the picture anymore. Wasn’t really working out. She was great and all but… a bit of a bore.”

“Aw,” Emma says.

“What about you?” she asks.

“There was someone,” she admits. “Girl I met at college. Didn’t really last.”

“Oh,” is all Alyssa says. Emma can feel her breathing against her, slow and steady. “So we’re both unlucky.”

“We’re still young,” Emma says.

“That’s optimistic,” Alyssa says, her voice laced with surprise.

“Courtesy of Grandma Betsy.” She feels Alyssa laughing against her.

“Thank God for Betsy.” Now it’s Emma’s turn to laugh.

“So this girl you dated,” she asks. “The boring one. What did she do? Collect stamps? Play the clarinet?” Alyssa takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly, the air coming out in smoke that dances against the dark sky. Emma kicks herself, seeing the line behind her. Alyssa rubs her palm against the back of Emma’s hand and she feels her shaking. Maybe from the cold. Maybe from something else.

“She wasn’t you.”

Alyssa’s confession nearly knocks her off the wall. It does manage to knock all the air out of her lungs, leaving her heart frozen inside her chest. Her stomach drops, her intestines twist themselves into knots, her brain fizzes like a TV on static. She may as well have dropped a nuclear bomb on Hope, Indiana and now she and Alyssa are the only two survivors.

She sees Alyssa mumbling something, but the ringing in her ears is too loud to hear it. Alyssa shakes her head, a half-smile on her face and pushes herself off the wall, in the direction of the hotel. Back inside. Where she isn’t. In the same direction she walked five years ago.

_Say something, dumbass!_ the one part of her brain that still works shrieks at her.

Jumping up, Emma grabs her wrist just as she’s about to leave. Alyssa turns, her brown eyes wide, her shoulder trembling under Emma’s hand. She tries to smile as Emma stands there, the words she’s dying to say caught in her throat.

Well, who needs words anyway?

When her lips clash with Alyssa’s, it’s everything. It’s breathing and drowning, it’s fire and wind and comfort and care and utter ecstasy. How the hell did she live without this? Her hand comes up and tangles in Alyssa’s curls while the other grabs a hold of her waist, digging in like someone might pull her away from her. Alyssa herself grasps the label of Emma’s jacket with both hands, using it to pull her closer with a certain kind of desperation that Emma hasn’t seen before but oh god, she doesn’t want it to stop.

Alyssa moans against her lips, whispering her name against her. Her hands are trembling as her lips trail down Emma’s cheek and neck, her fingers trailing against the buttons of her shirt, teasing, never actually touching them. One flimsy fabric barrier between Alyssa’s fingers and her skin, and she’s itching to get it off her, to feel Alyssa’s hands all over her.

“Emma,” she whispers breathlessly, her mouth against her neck. “Can we go somewhere more private?”

Somewhere in Emma’s foggy mind, where the only thing she can see, hear or think about is Alyssa, she makes the connection.

“Yeah,” she murmurs against Alyssa’s lips. “Yeah one second.” She moves away from Alyssa just slightly, her hands still digging into her waist, fingers promising to undo the waistband of her trousers and render that nice dark blue belt she bought meaningless. Emma fumbles around in her jacket pocket until her fingers wrap around the warm, hard plastic of the key to her pick-up truck.

“Great,” Alyssa pants, watching the lights on Emma’s truck flicker on as the click-clock of the locks sounds faintly from across the parking lot. Alyssa’s brown eyes are wide and bright, almost like she’s high on something. Yet when Alyssa kisses her again, Emma is convinced she is the one that’s high.

While Emma didn’t count, the walk from the front steps of the hotel is less than thirty seconds. Less than thirty seconds of pure torment, especially when the moonlight illuminates Alyssa’s bare shoulders and neck. Emma chances it and runs her hand up Alyssa’s back, twirling loose strands of hair around her fingers and grins in delight when she shivers. If she’s shivering now, she should see what else Emma would like to make her do.

Emma allows Alyssa in first, chivalrous as always, and Alyssa grabs her and pulls her down on top of her. Emma feels the roof of the truck hovering above them, her knee in between Alyssa’s legs and one hand clutching the back of the seat to keep herself steady. Their skin is touching now, their chests pressed against each other’s, their breaths mingling. Beneath them, Alyssa flashes a cheeky, feral grin.

“As I recall, you like being on top,” she offers, giggling slightly as her hand plays with Emma’s collar. Emma’s brain stops and lags, incoherent half-thoughts screeching to a halt.

“You remembered,” she whispers with a smirk, pulling off their jacket and dropping it on the floor. “I’m flattered.”

Before Alyssa can respond Emma claims her lips, revelling in the surprised squeak. Finally Alyssa begins working on the buttons of her shirt while Emma’s tongue can begin working on the inside of Alyssa’s mouth. She doesn’t know if she feels the same now, but she refuses to care. This is no time or place for thinking about the past, not when Alyssa is here and real and underneath her, her fingernails trailing down their back, her shirt hanging open.

“Oh who needs it?” she sighs, sitting up just slightly. Alyssa pouts for a moment, but the pout turns into a grin as she watches Emma take off her shirt, ball it up and throw it in the front seat. She pushes away from her slightly so that Emma’s on top of her legs rather than her torso and sits up a little, her tongue darting out to the corner of her mouth.

“How they hell did I ever let you go?” she asks breathlessly. Emma attacks her with another kiss, picking right up where they left off. She doesn’t protest as Alyssa begins working at her bra, slipping it off when they break apart half an inch for air. It joins the discarded shirt in the front seat. “Seriously what was I even thinking?”

“Something, something long distance,” Emma replies as Alyssa kisses her neck and shoulders. “Something, something can’t do this anymore.” She’s fuzzy on the details now, on anything about the world that exists outside this truck and Alyssa’s body.

“Ugh, worst mistake of my life,” she groans. Emma feels Alyssa’s mouth sucking on the skin just below their neck, teeth sinking in just a fraction, but they feel it everywhere. Then she bites down harder and it’s pure ecstasy.

“Whatever happened to the good little PTA daughter?” Emma teases, murmuring into her hair. “The good girl who wore a promise ring?”

“You pulled it off me,” she reminds them, her lips trailing down their chest with small but firm kisses. “Damn you Emma Nolan.”

Emma pulls her lips to hers again, missing the feeling of her, and runs hers hand up her leg, stroking the delicate lace underwear underneath the soft purple fabric. Alyssa gasps against her lips and nods her head quickly. Emma even thinks she hears her whisper “please”. The panties trail down Alyssa’s lean legs and fall silently to the floor. Before Emma can do anything else to her, she finds herself tugging her trousers down, Alyssa frowning slightly.

“You think you’re the only one allowed to get naked?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me,” she replies, sitting up fully and kissing Emma again, her hand helping work to push their pants and underwear off. Emma’s fingernails dig into the soft skin between her neck and her shoulder blades and trail down her back, and they feel the little marks they leave there. Alyssa’s back moves beneath her hand, arching like a cat’s and stretching out. Her lips trail down Emma’s face and neck, slow and soft, taking her time but making Emma go slightly more insane each and every time she lifts her lips from her skin. Alyssa’s fingers work their own kind of magic on the inside of Emma’s thighs, making her gasp against her mouth.

“Oh God,” she sighs. A few hours ago, she was wondering what crime she committed to deserve having to face Alyssa again and now she’s wondering what good thing she did to deserve this kind of Heaven. “Oh God, Alyssa.” She sits up and push her back, straddling her with her thighs and leaning over her. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she sighs, smiling breathlessly. Emma kisses those lips again and again, murmuring “I love you” and “I’m sorry” against them. Now it’s her turn to push Alyssa’s skirt up and let their own fingers work in between her legs, revelling in the soft moans and whispers of pleasure she gets from her.

“Wait,” Alyssa says. Emma pulls her hands back immediately and sits up, her hands shaking as she watches Alyssa wriggle into some sort of sitting position. She gives them cunning smile as she begins pulling the dress over her, exposing everything underneath; slim hips, a slight bulge in her stomach, the street light outside making her glow, or maybe that’s just Alyssa.

“Oh my god,” Emma breathes. “You are amazing." She pushes up and kisses her again, her hands wandering all over her body, refamiliarizing themselves with every curve and movement of her. “There’s no one like you.” It takes them a moment to realise she’s said it out loud, but it’s true. No one could ever match up to Alyssa Greene. She kisses her shoulder and then feels bolder and bites down just hard enough to leave a mark. “At least now you don’t have to cover it with make up so your mom won’t see.”

“I gave you one,” Alyssa gasps. “It’s only fair.” Emma laughs against her mouth before kissing her hair, parting her lips with her tongue. She hears Alyssa moan and all she wants is for her to make that noise again. All she wants to feel is her hips moving against hers, feel her knees on either side of her as her fingers dig into their skin. Her fingers move along her waist, slipping between her legs. When Alyssa looks to Emma for approval, she gets an enthusiastic nod.

Emma whispers Alyssa’s name like a prayer as she goes on, arching her back off the seat. She wonders if she had practice or was she always just this good? She can’t remember anything before this and can’t think of what’s coming after this. This is her idea of Heaven, no painful silences or awkward conversations. All the language she needs is Alyssa’s legs between hers and her fingers working some sort of magic.

“Alyssa,” she whispers, hearing her voice shaking as she feels herself getting closer to finishing. Alyssa’s a minx, drawing it out as long as she can. Two can play at that game, Emma thinks, and she starts pressing kisses to her neck, slow and careful, designed to tease her. “Oh my God, Alyssa.” Her fingers tighten on her shoulders, trying to pull her as close as possible. Their two breaths mingle amongst each other. “Alyssa.”

“I love you!” she cries out just as they finish, feeling pure bliss in every part of her body. She stares up at the ceiling of her truck, panting, while Alyssa collapses on top of her, her hips pressing into Emma’s and her hair tickling her nose. Out of instinct, Emma’s arm comes around and holds her tightly, pressing her lips to the top of her head. The only sounds she can hear are the two of them breathing together as their warm bodies wrap around each other. She closes her eyes, losing herself in this moment, this moment that feels too perfect to be real.

Which unfortunately, it is.

Alyssa is the first one to break; she pushes herself up, away from Emma, and stretches her back, her face scrunching as she does so. Emma can’t stop her tongue from darting out to the corner of her mouth Alyssa’s stomach stretches out before her. Just minutes ago she had been pressing kisses to every inch of that stomach, her fingers had dug into the skin so much that there might be indents if she looks close enough.

_Jesus_ she thinks to herself. _You are so far gone, aren’t you?_

“Don’t judge me,” she sighs. Emma pulls her legs up and Alyssa plonks down on the seat. “I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“You’re 23,” Emma reminds her.

“My lower back might disagree with you.” They both huff a laugh as Emma folds one leg underneath her and the other. Alyssa presses her hands together, still slightly out of breath. Emma can’t blame her; her own chest is still heaving.

Alyssa leans forward, her head disappearing into the dark abyss the back seat has become and picks up her bra and (after some hunting underneath the seats with her ass in the air in the least dignified way) her underwear. As she puts them on with a relieved sigh, Emma can’t help but feel a little disappointed. In all her experiences, the putting on of the clothes usually means “thanks for the fun, see you never”. She doesn’t pick up her discarded dress from the front seat though. Instead she sits back and looks up at the ceiling, rubbing the back of her neck. Her other than sits on the seat between them, palm turned up. Emma could reach out and take it if she really wanted. Somehow that scares her more than Alyssa pulling her down on top of her did.

Wanting to fill the tense silence, Emma decides to start putting her own clothes on, trying to avoid Alyssa’s eyes as she puts on her bra and wriggles into her trousers. A cheeky remark about Alyssa wanting to keep the shirt off crosses her mind and then dies on her tongue. There are way too many directions that could go wrong.

She leans back in the seat, looking out the window, her shirt still open and her jacket forgotten in the front seat. It’s a ghost town out there, street lights glowing in the empty parking lot. Everyone else is probably inside making small talk and getting drunk or they made the smart decision and went home already.

“So…” Behind her, Emma hears Alyssa cracking her knuckles and fights the urge to wince. “Do you… maybe… want to talk?” Emma laughs, her breath forming a miniscule cloud on the window. She doesn’t want to talk. She wishes she had never come. She wants to get in the front seat and drive all the way back to LA, gently placing Alyssa and all her difficult questions and sad eyes out of the car before she goes. “Emma.”

“What’s to talk about?” she asks. “We had sex. It happens. We’re grown ups now.” The words _grown ups_ feel strange in her mouth. 23 years old and she still doesn’t really count herself as a grown up. Not when she leaves laundry sitting around for weeks or eats Pop Tarts for dinner. She might sip at wine at Barry’s fancy dinner parties and might be legally over 18 and might be working on a Masters and looking for jobs, but she’s no grown up. But she isn’t a kid any more. She doesn’t believe in fairy tales now.

“Emma.” She keeps looking at the street lamp, the one at the far end of the parking lot. Anything to keep herself away from Alyssa’s face because God knows what she’ll do if she looks at her. Her shaking voice is bad enough; making her chin shake and eyes prick with tears. She can blame it on allergies. “Fine. We don’t have to talk.” She hears her standing up, sees her reaching into the front seat and pulling something sharply from it. She doesn’t need to guess what it is; within seconds she’s hunched over trying to get back into that purple dress of hers. The lack of leg room means it’s not an easy task, and it certainly hinders her attempt at a dignified exit. “See you around, I guess.”

“Alyssa!” she hears the word coming out of her mouth, frantic and far too loud for the small truck, before she realises she said it. She finds herself having turned around sharply, one hand on Alyssa’s shoulder. She loosens her grip before she makes Alyssa run away out of fear Emma’s going to cut her up and dump her in a river. She tries to even out her breathing as much as possible, not having realised how every nerve in her body seems to be shaking and crackling like Halloween sparklers. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay.” She lowers herself back onto the seat, turning to face Emma. Her hand almost reaches out to her but then falls limply back by her side. “It’s okay.” Emma shifts onto her side too and then it feels like they’re back in high school, lying in her bed under the covers, giggling at nothing, their hands joined together so that her finger could trace Alyssa’s ring. Back then the universe consisted of them and only them; they built a kingdom in Emma’s bed that no one else could enter. No homophobic parents or stuffy PTAs.

“Come on,” Emma says, opening the door and jumping out. She forgot to put shoes on and the gravel pokes at her bare feet. In one fluid motion, she grabs the edge of her truck and swings herself up to sit on the back of it. The endless expanse of a star-filled sky looms over her and she likes it more than the dull roof of her truck. It feels more alive. Alyssa gets up beside her with a little more difficulty, heaving herself up on her stomach and twisting around with such little grace it’s hard to believe she spent high school doing backflips on the cheer pyramid.

“I told you,” she says. “Not as young as I used to be.” She pats her hands on her stomach, looking up at the sky with Emma. “It’s a nice night.”

“Yeah,” Emma replies, her voice so low she’s sure Alyssa didn’t hear her. They could go on making small talk about how pretty the night is, dancing delicately around the obvious. For the second time that night, she feels the term ‘the elephant in the room’ applies here, only with ‘elephants’. Plural. She imagines dozens of them swarming around the parking lot, climbing up on the roof of the hotel, bashing their dumb elephant heads against her truck and smacking her with their trunks.

“Emma,” Alyssa says again. “Why did we do that?”

“Because the inside of my truck if way too stuffy.”

“Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you.” Emma hopes that in the dark of the night Alyssa can’t see her smiling. “Why did we just… do that?”

“Because…” Emma sighs, twirling her fingers together. She knows why she did, but not why Alyssa did it. Well, she has an inkling. But she doesn’t know if that inkling is true or wishful thinking. “Maybe I miss you. Maybe I-” _Have never stopped loving you. Though you probably got that when I yelled ‘I love you’._

“Maybe I miss you too,” she whispers. Emma’s smile grows bigger, so much so that she doubts Alyssa can’t see it now. She turns on her side again and Alyssa follows suit. The two of them. Four brown eyes, wide and open. Her grandma always says the eyes are the window to the soul. Even if she didn’t believe it, she always knew that Alyssa could see all the way into her soul every time she look in her eyes. Alyssa herself takes in a deep breath, the hand on her skirt curling into a tight fist. She’s building up to something. “Emma. When we were… in there.” She motions with her head to the back seat. “You told me something. Well, you said something that was directed at me.”

“Yeah.” She images the words splattered across the back seat in scarlet lettering. Three words. Eight letters. Can make or break something special. “You did too.” In the heat of the moment, when all she could think about was Alyssa’s body and which way she could make her moan, Emma hadn’t though much about what she had said. Put it in a little folder in her brain and saved it for later.

‘Worst mistake of my life’. That’s what she had said. Emma thinks, bizarrely, that she should be flattered that out of all the mistakes Alyssa has made, she thinks breaking up with Emma was at the top. But it takes two to have a fight.

“Yeah,” Alyssa sighs. “Did you mean it?”

“Did you?” It’s a deflection, and it’s mean, but she doesn’t really regret it. Her chest gets tighter, her hands shake. Even though all she wants to do is run, her muscles are still and quiet. The only part of her body that is moving is her pounding heart.

“Answer on three?” Alyssa asks. Her voice is trembling now. When Emma glances down, she sees her picking at her manicured nails. Old habits.

“On three. One…”

“Two…” Emma squeezes her eyes shut.

“Three.”

Two ‘yes’s fill the empty space between them. Emma dares to open her eyes and sees a grinning Alyssa in front of her. She lets a small laugh escape her, even though it’s nothing compared to the roller coaster she feels inside. She had missed that grin so much. She even feels bold enough to reach over and poke her finger into the dimple in Alyssa’s cheek. Alyssa reaches up and takes her hand, blinking rapidly. It’s not until a small black line trails down her cheek that Emma realises.

“You didn’t take waterproof mascara?” Emma teases.

“Didn’t expect to be crying,” she replies, her voice thick. _Me neither,_ Emma thinks as a tear tickles her skin. She trails her hand down Alyssa’s arm and links their fingers. “Emma, I’m sorry.” Emma rolls her lips into a thin, hard line. “I’m sorry for walking away.”

“I’m sorry for letting you,” she replies. She’s never been good at apologising, but she likes to think between high school and now, she’s gotten better. “Lyss, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t patient enough with you. I should’ve understood. And I’m sorry I threw all that fake prom crap from high school back in your face.”

“It’s okay,” Alyssa says.

“It’s not.”

“But it’s over now. We’re all grown up.”

“Maybe not _all_ grown up.” She holds Alyssa’s hand against her chest. “But we’re not kids anymore.”

“Definitely not.” She moves closer so that their toes touch. “What’s the time difference between New York and LA?”

“Three hours,” Emma responds. “42 hour drive. 6 and a half hour flight. If you’re getting a connection flight. A non-stop is 5 hours.”

“You did your research.” Emma kisses her hear. Those nights when she sat looking at time differences and flights and hotels when she was half-drunk and dreaming impossible dreams. She had always stopped herself before hitting send or picking up the phone; a combination of her stupid pride and her numbing fear prevented anything from happening. From ever attempting to try again. Now she can’t feel any of that, just cool night air and this infuriatingly perfect girl against her chest.

“3 hours isn’t too much,” she admits. “And 6 and a half hours is just three movies, more or less.”

“Plane food isn’t too bad.”

“Okay, yes it is,” Emma corrects her. “I know what we’re going for but let’s not get too crazy.” Alyssa’s laugh rings out all around them, brighter than any of the stars. “You know, maybe tomorrow, I can get a later flight? We can hang out. Talk.”

“Maybe I can pick you up?” she asks. “I saw a Starbucks on the way here.”

“They finally got one,” Emma murmurs into her hair.

“Well, a little out of town,” Alyssa admits. “Might be a long drive.”

“I won’t mind.” She lets out a long breath but doesn’t bother wiping away the tears. “Not if it’s with you.” Alyssa pulls away from her slightly, just enough to look up at her, a bashful smile on her face and a pink blush to her cheeks. She traces her finger with her cheekbone, her touch soft and light as a feather. Emma feels her last wall break, albeit it had been crumbling all night. “I love you,” she whispers, half choking on tears. “I can’t believe I spent five years without you.”

“Me neither,” she replies. “Longest five years of my life.” She shakes her head, what’s left of her bun falling out of its pins. “Maybe it was just a timing thing. Maybe we needed some time.”

“I think five years was enough time,” she suggests.

“More than enough,” Alyssa agrees.

Emma pulls her close, kissing her again, slow and gentle, savouring every minute with her. Tears mingle, teeth and tongues clash, fingers get lost in hair. Emma’s careful, still worried that she’ll wake up and this will all have been a really good, very vivid, slightly embarrassing dream. But when they pull apart, she’s still there, tucking her head under Emma’s chin and wrapping her arms as tight as possible around her waist.

In the moments where she daydreamed about them getting back together, she had thought it would be like those five years never happened, they’d be 18 all over again, fresh canvases waiting to be painted on. Instead, she finds those years are still there, painted over with harsh colours and ugly patterns. But that’s okay, she decides. They can paint over them. They can work with those past years, take the good bits and grow them out. They can get to know each other all over again, Emma can fall in love with something new now, find new quirks in this new Alyssa to giggle at. They can’t reclaim the past, but at least they can work on making their future a masterpiece.

**Author's Note:**

> And 14,000 words later, we're done! Please leave comments and kudos if you liked it, it fuels my ego (and my muse)


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